Alfie the Doorstep Cat. Rachel Wells

as I needed to be. Not yet.

      One night, feeling in a more positive frame of mind, I came across a group of humans. They were all huddled around a large doorway; there was lots of cardboard and it smelt very bad. They all had bottles in their hands and some of them had almost as much fur on their faces as me.

      ‘It’s a cat,’ one of the furry men slurred, taking a drink. He waved his bottle towards me; the stench sent me reeling back. They laughed as I started slowly moving backwards, not sure what danger I was facing, if any. The man who laughed then threw a bottle at me, I dodged it but only just as it smashed to pieces next to me.

      ‘It’d make a nice hat to keep me warm,’ another laughed, slightly menacingly, I thought. I crept further back.

      ‘We ain’t got no food, bugger off,’ a third said, unkindly.

      ‘We could skin ’im for a hat then eat ’im,’ another said, laughing. I widened my eyes in horror and backed away. Then, from nowhere, a cat appeared.

      ‘Follow me,’ he hissed, and I ran after him down the street. Thankfully, just as I thought I couldn’t run any more, we stopped.

      ‘Who were they?’ I asked, breathlessly.

      ‘Neighbourhood drunks. They don’t have homes. You should keep away from them.’

      ‘But I don’t have a home either,’ I cried, and I felt like yowling again.

      ‘I’m sorry to hear that. But you should still keep out of their way. They aren’t exactly friendly.’

      ‘What’s drunk?’ I asked, feeling very much like a little cat with no idea about the world yet again.

      ‘It’s something humans do. They drink stuff and it changes them. Not milk or water. Look, come with me. I can sneak you some food and milk tonight and find you somewhere safe to sleep.’

      ‘You’re very kind,’ I purred.

      ‘I’ve been where you are; I was homeless for a while,’ the cat said, and then stalked off, gesturing with his paw for me to follow him.

      His name was Button, which he said was a silly name for a cat but he had a young owner who said he was ‘cute as a button’, whatever that means. The house we went to was in darkness and I was so happy to be inside, somewhere warm and safe. It reminded me that I desperately needed to find a home before long. I told Button my story.

      ‘That’s sad,’ he said. ‘But you have learnt, like me, that one owner isn’t always enough. I visit another house on my street sometimes.’

      ‘Really?’ I said, intrigued.

      ‘I think of myself as being a doorstep cat,’ he said.

      ‘What’s that?’ I was curious.

      ‘Well, you live somewhere most of the time, but you go to other doorsteps until they let you in. They don’t always, but I have another house, and although I don’t stay there, if anything happens I feel I have options.’ As I questioned him he went on to explain that a doorstep cat got fed multiple times, by multiple families, they got petted and fussed over and enjoyed a high level of security.

      Like me he had hated being homeless; and unlike me the young child had come to his rescue although he said that he’d engineered it. When he found his new family he’d looked as helpless as possible, ensuring they took pity and adopted him.

      ‘So you just looked like you needed feeding and grooming?’ I asked, ears pricked in interest.

      ‘Well I really did look like that. But you know, I got lucky, I pleaded for help and someone took me in. I’ll help you if you like.’

      ‘Oh I would love that,’ I replied.

      He let me curl up with him in his basket, talking late into the night. And although I wouldn’t get much sleep, because I needed to leave early the next morning before Button’s owners woke, I felt safe for the first time since leaving Margaret’s. I also had a plan forming in my mind: I would make an excellent doorstep cat.

      I left Button’s house the next morning. I felt sad about going, after the safety of the night, but at least he’d advised me where to go, pointing me in the direction of the nicer streets in the area. He suggested I head west, towards the area that was popular with families, until I found the street that felt right to me. I had to trust my instincts and he seemed to think I would know when I had arrived. With a good sleep and a full belly I headed off in the direction he’d suggested, dodging danger and following my nose.

      I was more optimistic but life after Button didn’t suddenly change overnight. There were still days where I had to keep my wits about me and more still where I felt hungry and tired, having to keep going when my legs shook with exhaustion and my fur stuck to my body with the rain. I survived but it was a long, hard journey. I just kept telling myself it would be worth it in the end.

      And, finally I arrived at a lovely street and as Button had suggested, I knew immediately it would give me what I needed. I didn’t know how exactly, but I knew; I just knew, that I belonged here. I sat by a sign that said ‘Edgar Road’ and I licked my lips. For the first time since leaving Margaret’s, I felt that everything was going to be all right.

      I immediately liked Edgar Road. It was a long street with many different types of houses; Victorian terraced houses, modern boxes, larger houses and some buildings divided into flats. What I especially liked was that there were a number of ‘For Sale’ and ‘To Let’ signs. Button had explained that these signs meant that new people would soon be arriving. And, I strongly believed, what new people needed most of all, was a cat like me.

      In the next few days, I met some of the neighbourhood cats. When I told them what I was up to, they insisted on helping me. I soon discovered that, on the whole, the Edgar Road cats were a pretty nice bunch. After all, it was important to me to live in a neighbourhood with good cat neighbours. There were a couple of ‘Alpha Toms’ and one pretty girl cat who was particularly unkind to everyone, but apart from that they were friendly, and they shared their food and drink with me when I was at my most needy.

      During the day I spent my time speaking to the other cats, getting as much information as I could out of them, and casing out the empty houses, searching for my potential homes. At night, I would go hunting, just to keep myself fed.

      One evening, after I’d been at Edgar Road for just under a week, a particularly mean Tom found me sitting outside one of the empty houses that I was keeping an eye on.

      ‘You don’t live here. Maybe it’s time you left,’ he hissed at me.

      ‘I’m staying,’ I hissed back, trying to be brave as I faced him. He was bigger than me and of course, I was still not at my best. After all I’d been through, I felt as if I had no more fight inside me but I couldn’t give up. I was suddenly distracted by a noise, and I looked up to see a bird swooping quite low overhead. The Tom took his chance and swiped at me with his paw, scratching me just above my eye.

      I yowled. It really hurt and I quickly felt blood. I spat at the Tom as he loomed in, looking as if he was going to bite me. I vowed to always keep my eye on him in future.

      A brightly striped cat called Tiger lived next door to this empty house, and she and I had become friendly. She suddenly appeared, and stood between me and the Tom.

      ‘Get lost, Bandit,’ she hissed. Bandit looked as though he might fight, but after a while, he turned on his heel and stalked off. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said.

      ‘He caught me unawares, I was distracted,’ I said, haughtily. ‘I could have taken him easily.’ Tiger grinned.

      ‘Look Alfie, I am sure you could, but you’re still delicate. Anyway, come with me and